


Into Darkness Of Thought

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Love/Hate Relationship, M/M, Mentions of that turn 1 incident, Rivals to Lovers, Set after the Japanese Grand Prix, a handful of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: It’s not as if he can blame Max for not coming back to the space that they’ve shared together in recent months after this weekend.





	Into Darkness Of Thought

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been in the mindset to be able to finish this fic, but inspiration finally struck me once again and here it is. The title is taken from Agamemnon by Aeschylus.

Charles arrives home unceremoniously, greeted by the most beautiful of mornings that only Monaco could bring. The sun rising over the water and docks, illuminating the buildings and streets. The fresh air of the sea. The comfort of the city you love. Peace and quiet before the city erupts into various different noises. Being in the city that you were born and raised in. But all of this is interrupted once he is brought back down to reality at the thought of the events of the weekend and suddenly, his heart aches a little once he reaches the front of his flat and who may or may not be inside once he enters. 

It’s not as if he can blame Max for not coming back to the space that they’ve shared together in recent months after this weekend. In the end, now that he is back home and away from the controlled chaos of the garage and track that he throws himself into, Charles feels brought back down to the issue at hand. Ringing through his ears is the sound of Max’s voice in the interview that he happened to hear completely by accident, and his name accompanied by words like irresponsible and dangerous. Even if it doesn’t mean anything now he finds that it bothers him in a way he doesn’t entirely understand, he only knows that it does. As he walks through the lobby of his building and past the front desk towards the elevator, his thoughts run wild. The worst that could happen undoubtedly would be walking into an empty space. A space empty of any evidence that Max had ever been there to begin with. Despite the numbness of it, Charles knows he would get over it. In every sense, Charles is nothing but a driver. As quickly as he felt that numbness, it would be gone and quickly replaced by something else that his inner self would find less distracting. 

Walking past the desk, Charles doesn’t notice the attendant trying to get his attention. 

As the elevator door closes, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Charles opens his eyes and exhales once he hears the ping of the elevator announcing that they have arrived on his floor. Feet carry him on the unforgettably familiar pathway to his front door, slipping inside quietly. 

The inside of his flat is dark, the curtains over the window muting the light of the rising sun. His heart is warmed and relaxed at the instant sight of the place he calls home, despite coming back to the exact situation that he expected. It’s not as if he doesn’t understand that he deserves it. 

Charles leaves his luggage case by the door on his way to the bedroom, knowing that he’ll come back for it later once he has slept off his drowsiness from the flight back from Suzuka. The closer he gets to his bedroom, walking past his kitchen and through the hallway, the more he feels the drowsiness setting into every part of himself. 

However, he stops abruptly in the doorway at what his eyes have taken notice of. 

At the edge of the bed, is a sleek black luggage case. In the bed even in the early morning light Charles can make out the shape of a person in his bed. The shade of hair just fair enough against the cream color of the pillows and sheets. While part of himself -the part of him that has dared to feel immensely for his fellow driver and think thoughts about things other than racing- feels soothed by the sight of Max after everything, it does nothing to soothe the other part of him driven by goals and god knows what else. If anything, it only makes Charles feel more guilty. Max stirs in his sleep, and ever silently Charles walks into the bathroom and closes the door with a deliberately soft click before turning on the light and the shower, stepping inside once things have reached a comfortable steaminess. But it’s only a false sense of security once his inner voice steps forward in this otherwise relaxed and peaceful environment. _You don’t deserve him, you know. He loves and loves and then you go and do this to him so thoughtlessly. You’re cold, cold, cold…_ Charles focuses on the sound of the falling water and how it feels running down his skin, but the words stick in his mind more than he means them to. Even if tears were falling, he wouldn’t know. There is hardly any difference between the water falling from his face to the water falling down the drain. 

Charles dresses in something he could sleep easily in, a familiar plain grey shirt and sweatpants, the feeling of emptiness never entirely leaving him. Not even as he climbs into bed, everything feeling wrong. In the end, sleep overtakes him quickly.

He doesn’t exactly know how long it is that he has been asleep, but what wakes him is the comforting feeling of someone stroking his hair, rather than the bright mid-afternoon sun filtering in from the slit where the curtains over the window don’t touch. Charles breathes out a content sigh, a soft betrayal of his current feelings. As his eyes open, he takes note of how tired Max looks.

“You shouldn’t have come back.” Charles’s voice is low from sleep, almost a whisper as he looks up at the ceiling.

If Max is shocked by his answer, he doesn’t show it. His face is almost expressionless, his voice just as much. “Why?”

“Because,” Charles begins as he shifts, laying on his side to face the Dutchman laying next to him. “It was dangerous and reckless. It wasn’t fair to you.” It isn’t often that he would be this forthcoming. 

Something about the look in Max’s eyes changes and it reminds Charles of the first time that the other had looked him in a way that could not possibly be meant for two people who are merely rivals, just as he feels his hair being pulled enough to elicit a gasp. His eyes flutter shut.

“There is more to all of this than you think there is. ” Max whispers against his lips before closing the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned at the beginning, the title came from this excerpt from Agamemnon:
> 
> _Of these things what can be told_  
openly, speak.  
Be healer to this perplexity  
that grows now into darkness of thought,  
while again sweet hope shining from the flames  
beats back the pitiless pondering  
of sorrow that eats my heart.
> 
> The songs I wrote to while writing the fic were:
> 
> \- Un di, felice, eterea || Verdi  
\- Get Out || Frightened Rabbit  
\- Romance in F Minor || Tchaikovsky  
\- Gymnopedie no. 1 || Satie  
\- Gnossienne no. 1 || Satie  
\- Specialist || Interpol


End file.
